


So You Want to Woo a Werewolf

by grimm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Courtship, M/M, Mating Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimm/pseuds/grimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This seems like a bad idea,” Scott hissed. It was just after the end of a pack meeting and Stiles was peeing on Derek’s car. “This seems like a <i>really</i> bad idea.”</p><p>-</p><p>In which Stiles tries to court Derek and Peter is a master troll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So You Want to Woo a Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Jessica, who won a fic from me in the AO3 Auction! I had SUCH a fun time writing this, you don't even know.

An outside observer might guess, by all the books crammed under his bed, stacks of printouts on his desk, websites bookmarked on his computer, that Stiles was an expert on werewolves. An outside observer would be wrong.

There was still a lot that Stiles didn’t know about werewolves, which was extremely frustrating, because he _knew_ a fucking werewolf – _multiple_ werewolves – and still couldn’t learn anything, because anytime he ever approached Derek with a question, Derek gave him a dark look and refused to answer. He complained to Scott about this once and Scott pointed out, quite reasonably (which was weird for him), that maybe Derek didn’t know much either. After all, his family had died when he was still a teen, and if he’d been anything like a normal teen, he’d probably had no interest in listening to what his parents had to say.

Still, it was exasperating. Stiles had notebooks full of notes, divided into chapters according to personal observations, confirmed facts, possible truths, and definite falsehoods. He had one notebook on the moon and its effects on behavior, another on the different types of weres and physical traits, yet another on pack dynamics. Derek scoffed when he looked through them, snorting until Stiles jerked them out of his hands and smacked him over the head with them. “Don’t laugh if you don’t have anything useful to say,” he’d snapped.

Derek didn’t seem to understand why Stiles was so interested in gathering information. “I could just turn you,” he said one afternoon, sitting on the end of Stiles’ bed, watching him scan websites for information on a wendigo they were stalking. Stiles froze at the words, his heart leaping into an anxious staccato. “Or not,” Derek added idly.

Stiles swallowed and muttered, “Yeah, that’s worked out _real_ well for your betas,” which earned him a scowl.

Stiles was never going to be turned; he was sure of that. He was pretty sure Derek would never do it, even if he asked for the bite – there was no way Derek wanted to be tied to him for the rest of his life. But even if he wasn’t a were, he was part of the pack, no matter how heartily Derek tried to deny it, and it was important to understand how their world worked.

The problem was, there were things that he desperately wanted to know – things that even if he thought Derek might know, there was no way Stiles would ever ask him. There was a fourth notebook hidden deep under his bed, crammed inside a disgustingly smelly set of old lacrosse pads. He only pulled it out when he’d made sure to lock the window and the door, because he was pretty sure if Derek ever knew about it, he’d stop talking to Stiles forever. There was a close call once, when he didn’t latch the window all the way, and Derek came through just as he was crawling out from under the bed after stowing the notebook back in its hiding place, dust bunnies clinging to his clothes. Derek had stared and said, “What are you doing?”

“L-looking for a book,” Stiles had stammered, which was a flat-out lie but for once, Derek hadn’t seemed interested in calling him on it.

What Stiles wanted to know about were werewolf mating rituals, and not just the sex – he wanted to know, did they even have mates? Was there some sort of courtship? Did they have a mating howl that brought all the betas to the yard? The notebook had about four lines written in it because he’d been able to find absolutely _nothing_ about it in any of his sources, which made him crazy with worry and curiosity. Was it something only werewolves knew? Was it some kind of legend, only passed down to the next generation by word of mouth under a full moon? Were there complicated rituals and rites, like there was so much of in the rest of werewolf lore?

It wasn’t like he wanted to _use_ the knowledge. Haha, no way. It wasn’t like Derek was the only eligible were in town (well, there was Isaac too, but he was so _pretty_ it kind of intimidated Stiles, and Peter was just _no_ ). It wasn’t like he jerked off in the shower to the thought of running his tongue down those washboard abs. It wasn’t like he stared at the way the muscles in Derek’s arms bunched as he pulled himself through Stiles’ window like he was at that very moment.

“Hey,” Derek said carelessly as his worn-out sneakers hit the floor. His shirt rode up as he slid all the way inside, and Stiles definitely did not stare at the slim line of tanned skin it revealed, or lick his lips at the way the edge of Derek’s boxers rode above his belt.

“Hey,” Stiles returned, and it was embarrassing how breathy his voice came out. Derek frowned at him suspiciously and Stiles swung back to face his computer, his cheeks going ruddy. He ignored the way Derek flopped down on his bed like he owned it. Stiles wished he wouldn’t; his sheets always smelled like Derek after he left, all leather and aftershave, and it was really confusing to him. Derek was weirdly fond of his bed, which maybe he could understand because he’d seen Derek’s bed and he wasn’t sure you could call an air mattress covered in somewhat moldy blankets at bed. Derek came over in the afternoons sometimes to sleep, which Stiles wouldn’t mind except that it just confused him further, because it wasn’t like Derek took any special interest in him outside his room. He wasn’t like Peter, who _always_ had something spectacularly disturbing to say about how well Stiles was growing up, which made him worry that Peter was waiting for something. What, he didn’t know, but it worried him nonetheless.

Peter, Stiles realized suddenly. Peter could probably tell him what he wanted to know. He had a wife; Stiles was pretty sure Derek had told him that once. He’d know. Of course, that meant actually having to go _talk_ to Peter. He was like a Level 49 Sex Offender, and the only thing that stopped Stiles from promoting him to Level 50 was that he wasn’t sure Peter had ever _actually_ bad-touched anyone, but it seemed highly possible.

Stiles sighed. It was either go talk to Peter or be in the dark forever. He picked up his backpack and said to Derek, “I’m heading out, dude.”

Derek rumbled something that sounded like, “You’re leaving?”

Stiles sighed again. “Maybe you should call before you just drop in like this. I do have a life, surprising as that may sound.”

Derek growled into his pillow – _Stiles’_ pillow, the pillow he had to put his face on that night, asshole – and turned on his side, ignoring Stiles wholeheartedly. Stiles made a face at his broad back and left.

Stiles drove to Derek’s derelict shell of a house in the woods. It seemed kind of backward, considering Derek was at _his_ house but then, it wasn’t Derek he was going to see. He parked the Jeep in front of the house and got out, but he didn’t go inside. He leaned against the front of the Jeep instead, arms folded over his chest, waiting, and Peter came out eventually, a faint smile on his face.

“Stiles,” he said, walking lightly across the small expanse of lawn. “What an unusual pleasure.”

“Hi,” Stiles said uneasily. “I was wondering – can I ask you something? About werewolves?”

Peter folded his arms over his chest, looking bemused. “You didn’t ask Derek?”

“Um, no,” Stiles replied, mortified to feel his cheeks reddening. “He doesn’t – I just – can you tell me about werewolf relationships? Is there like a courtship or something?” The words spilled out of him before he lost his courage entirely and then his mouth snapped shut. It felt like he was blushing all the way down to his ribs.

Peter looked tickled pink. “You’re talking about Derek.”

“No,” Stiles said automatically, before he remembered that Peter could hear when he lied. He sighed. “Yes? I don’t know. I don’t even know if he likes me. Sometimes he comes over and I don’t know if it counts as hanging out because he usually just ignores me, but I thought maybe if I did it right, appealed to his wolf or whatever, maybe he’d be interested.” Stiles said a lot more than he meant to because he was nervous. He said more than he’d ever admitted to anyone, even Scott, but maybe Peter knew something he did. Derek was his nephew, and they lived together; maybe he’d said something.

Peter watched him intently, looking like he was holding back laughter, but his voice was oddly gentle when he said, “So you want to woo a werewolf.”

Stiles winced, because it sounded like the title of a children’s novel or really bad self-help book, but he nodded because it was more or less true.

Peter rubbed a hand over his stupid goatee and smiled. “All right,” he said. “Let’s make a plan.”

-

Peter, very thoughtfully, offered to leave for a few days while Stiles set his plan into motion, so there’d be no mistaking who Stiles was trying to pursue. He seemed awfully jovial about the whole thing; Stiles could have sworn he could hear Peter laughing from the house while he drove away after their impromptu planning session. Whatever, though; even though some of what Peter had said about courting a werewolf seemed a little wacky, a lot of it rang with truth. He was eager to get home and get it all written down before he forgot it.

He completely forgot about Derek, something he realized only a moment before he threw himself into his room. Derek was sitting up with his legs swung over the side of Stiles’ bed, rubbing his face like he’d just woken up. Stiles paused a few steps into the room, his heart twisting at the way Derek’s whole body softened when he slept. Derek glanced over at him, his eyes half-lidded with sleep, and the relaxed expression on his face was part of what was making this thing so hard for Stiles. He didn’t know if the reason why Derek could sleep around him was because he trusted him, or because he disregarded him so completely that he wasn’t even remotely considered a threat.

Suddenly Derek blinked, his head coming up sharply. “You smell like Peter,” he said flatly.

“What? Ugh,” Stiles groaned. They hadn’t even _touched_ , and Peter still left his slimy mark on him. “Figures.”

“Why do you smell like Peter?” Derek pressed, crimson seeping into his pale eyes.

Stiles swallowed and dropped his bag on the floor. “I had to go talk to him,” he said. “Because Erica’s lazy and makes me do her dirty work for her.” This was, technically, true. Erica _had_ asked him if he could find out some very worrying things about werewolf pregnancies, and he _had_ remembered to ask Peter while he was up at the house. “I thought, since he was married—”

“Whatever,” Derek growled, shoving his sneakers back on. He got to his feet and Stiles thought it was funny and kind of terrifying how, even though Derek was only like two inches taller than him, he still managed to loom. “I’m leaving.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. He could tell Derek was angry and didn’t know why, but knew better than to press him when he was in a mood. “All right. I’ll see you later?”

Derek didn’t reply; he just slipped back out the window and disappeared from sight. Stiles sighed and locked the window behind him, then prepared for the journey under his bed.

-

Part of the plan meant enlisting Scott’s help, which also meant that Stiles had to tell him everything which he did, in great detail, over lunch at school the following Monday. Scott listened to him in mute horror, graciously allowing him to finish before saying, “You like _Derek?”_

Stiles frowned at him, worried about his listening comprehension skills. “Yeah, dude. That’s what this whole thing’s about.”

“But.” Scott looked around the cafeteria, clearly grasping at straws. “But what about Lydia?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dude, we’ve been over this part. Lydia’s like a celebrity crush; she’s fun to dream about, but she’s way out of my league.”

“And Derek’s not the same?”

“Well, maybe,” Stiles admitted. “But he remembered my name after meeting us once. I’m not sure Lydia knows my name even now. That’s something, right?”

“I guess.” Scott looked kind of sick. “Dude, you have to promise that if this – if this works, you can’t tell me anything about what you guys do. I’ll puke on you.”

Stiles grinned. “Like you won’t be able to smell it?”

Scott groaned and covered his eyes. “Screw you.”

“That’s be Derek’s job,” Stiles said cheerfully. “Now, c’mon, are you going to help me or what? You totally owe me – remember when I played telephone between you and Allison?”

“Fine,” Scott grumbled. “But never again.”

-

It was Scott’s job to crouch in the woods near the Hale house and wait for Derek to drive off in the Camaro to do his werewolf errands – or laundry, maybe; Stiles was pretty sure there wasn’t a washing machine hidden in the ruins anywhere and Derek’s clothes were always suspiciously clean – while Stiles sat in the Jeep further up the access road. Once he had the go-ahead from Scott, he drove up to the house and leapt out. Scott came out of the woods, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You sure this is right?” Scott asked, watching Stiles go around to the back of the Jeep and pull a cooler out.

“Peter said dead animals,” Stiles replied. It sounded ridiculous when he said it out loud, but cats brought their owners dead mice, right? Wolves were the same…probably. “I didn't go out and kill Bambi, though.” He’d gotten nice meat from the butcher, not the grocery store. He'd put  _thought_ into this.

Scott made a face, but stood aside and watched Stiles carry the small cooler up the front steps. He set it in front of the door and stepped back, admiring his handiwork. He’d drawn the Hale triskelion on the cooler lid, though it was that weird pebbled plastic and so the whole thing had a shaky sort of look to it, like it had been drawn by someone who’d had too much caffeine. Whatever – it was the thought that counted.

He went back to the Jeep and Scott climbed into the passenger’s seat. As Stiles threw the car into first gear and they bounced down the rough driveway, Scott said, “You’re _sure?”_

“Yeah,” Stiles said, gritting his teeth as the right wheel hit a pothole and the whole body of the Jeep creaked. “What is it they say? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? Who doesn’t like meat? In their mouths? I do,” he added, grinning wickedly at the way Scott groaned.

-

Stiles waited a couple of days, thinking he’d hear from Derek, but there was nothing but radio silence. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, which was fine, because there were still more parts of the plan to implement, and Peter wasn’t coming back for a while yet.

The next part was a little more difficult, and he had to enlist all the betas to help. Stiles was nervous about telling them, but none of them seemed at all surprised. Boyd didn’t say anything, and Erica rolled her eyes, but Isaac smiled tentatively, and they all agreed to go along with it.

“This seems like a bad idea,” Scott hissed. It was just after the end of a pack meeting and Stiles was peeing on Derek’s car. “This seems like a _really_ bad idea.”

“Will you shut up,” Stiles muttered. The betas were on the other side of the car with Scott, talking loudly, their voices supposed to distract Derek from the sound of Stiles pissing on his car, if he was even bothering to listen. This _did_ seem like a bad idea, because Derek’s car was like his one nice thing in the whole world and it seemed like a terrible plan to pee on it. He’d said as much to Peter, but Peter insisted. Something to do with challenging territory.

“Hurry _up,”_ Scott whispered.

“Dude, I drank like two liters of water,” Stiles hissed back. “It’s like fucking Niagara Falls over here.”

On the way home, Scott said, “I don’t think Peter knows what he’s talking about.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Stiles asked. “He had a wife.”

Scott gave Stiles an uneasy sidelong glance. “Do you think he might have been fucking with you?”

Stiles tapped his fingers against the wheel. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “He laughed a lot.”

Scott sighed. “Dude, I think you’ve been had.”

Stiles’ stomach flipped. “But I just pissed on Derek’s car.”

Scott patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe he won’t notice?”

-

Stiles laid rigid in bed that night, terrified that Derek was going to burst in, furious that Stiles had peed on his car. Because, oh fucking god, he’d _peed_ on an alpha’s car. Holy hell. If that didn’t get him eviscerated, he didn’t know what would.

But Derek didn’t come in that night, and Stiles relaxed. Maybe Peter hadn’t been messing with him. There was a third step to the plan and it was simple. Stiles didn’t need Scott or the betas to help him with it. He walked through the woods on the way home from school, gathering what he needed, and sat at his desk, working steadily in the quiet golden light of the afternoon sun.

He was nearly finished when Derek came swinging through the window in one long, graceful movement. Derek’s feet had barely hit the floor before he was right up in Stiles’ face with his eyes blazing red, snarling, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Stiles’ mouth went dry. “U-uh,” he stammered quietly. “Did you drive here?”

“Stiles!” Derek roared. “You pissed on my fucking car!”

“Did you like the meat, though?” Stiles asked nervously.

“What sort of game are you playing?” Derek snapped.

“I just,” Stiles looked down at his hands. He could feel his cheeks heating up. “I was just, um, trying to court you, and Peter said—”

Derek’s entire demeanor changed, the anger fading from his face to be replaced with confusion. _“Court_ me?” he echoed. “Why?”

“Because I like you?” Stiles offered, his cheeks going even darker. “You – I mean, it’s okay if you’re not interested. I just thought I’d try to do it right.”

“And Peter told you that leaving me meat and peeing on my car were the right things to do,” Derek said flatly.

“Scott thinks he was trolling me,” Stiles muttered.

Derek snorted. “You think?”

Stiles nodded unhappily, staring at the floor. Derek stood in front of him for a long time before asking, “And what are you doing now?”

Stiles lifted the twisted circlet he’d woven from rowan branches, dotted with blue wolfsbane flowers. “It’s supposed to be a crown,” he mumbled. “Another one of Peter’s jokes, I guess.”

Derek didn’t speak for a long time. “It’s not,” he said finally. “That – my mother kept the one my dad made for her in a box in their closet. She’d wear it on her birthday.”

It fucking figured that Peter would make him jump through hoops like that, just to end on something _real._ Stiles licked his lips nervously, his throat tightening as Derek knelt down in front of him. He held Stiles’ gaze steadily, no anger left on his face. “Are you accepting?” Stiles whispered.

Derek nodded and bent his head like a king about to be crowned, but Stiles hesitated, his fingers tightening against the branches. “I wasn’t sure if you even liked me,” he said, his voice shaking.

Derek lifted his head to look at him. “Why do you think I come over here?” he asked. “I know I can trust you. You make me feel safe.”

Stiles licked his lips again. Hearing that meant more than anything, because he knew that Derek didn’t trust _anyone._ Only him. Derek kept his gaze for another long moment before bending his head again and that was trust too, Stiles knew, exposing the back of his neck to attack. He swallowed and gently set the circlet down on Derek’s hair. He’d gotten the size almost perfect; it rested just above Derek’s ears. It looked strange, juxtaposed against Derek’s leather jacket, like he’d gotten caught in a surprise renaissance fair and forced to join the may dance.

“Rise, sir knight,” Stiles said, because he couldn’t resist. Derek rolled his eyes and climbed to his feet, then leaned forward into Stiles’ space.

“You owe me a car wash,” he murmured.

“I think I can manage that,” Stiles grinned. “Wet shirt, sexy car – do you think you’ll be able to resist me like that?”

One side of Derek’s mouth lifted in a faint smile. “I don’t know. Guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Stiles laughed as Derek closed the distance between them, sealing his acceptance with a soft kiss. Operation Woo Derek Hale had been a definite success.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://grimm-times.tumblr.com), and I'm currently taking fic prompts!


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